


Thrills

by Sassywolf23



Series: The Logan Chronicles [3]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 23:37:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2559968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sassywolf23/pseuds/Sassywolf23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You can get your thrills in Hightown, if you know where to look.” ~Hawke, Dragon Age 2 </p><p>“Don’t even think about it, wench. I know your wily ways.”<br/>“Good. At least someone in this ragtag group does.”</p><p>Fenabela</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thrills

_“You can get your thrills in Hightown, if you know where to look.” ~_ Hawke, Dragon Age 2

**Thrills**

Flirting with a broody elf was rather fun, Isabela decided one night, having managed to get herself drunk while also avoiding the lecherous advances of the regulars in the Hanged Man.

The group had just gotten back from a trip to the Vinmark wasteland, and Fenris was looking the worst for wear. Isabela knew he still held a torch for Logan, but because he’d left, the red-haired mage had gone for Anders instead. She found it sad really, because Fenris really did deserve better.

So she’d taken it upon herself to cheer up the elf.

“Let’s see, what colors have I already guessed?”

“All of them, I suspect.”

“And I still haven’t gotten it right? Damn.”

Fenris suddenly chuckled. “Thank you,” he said quietly, looking down at his empty bottle, studiously avoiding Logan and Anders, who were flirting with each other with no cares as to those around them.

“What for, sweet thing?”

“For being you.”

Isabela flushed and looked away; she was glad for once that she didn’t wear that much clothing, because it was suddenly unbearably warm.

“You alright, wench?” The teasing lilt in his voice, why hadn’t she noticed before?

When she looked back at him, he was already on his feet.

“I need some air, and a chance to clear my head,” was all he said as he walked toward the door, not glancing back at Hawke as he had been wont to do over the last three years.

Isabela sat in her chair for awhile nursing another ale, letting her confused mind wander. Eventually, the Hanged Man closed for the night, and she was forced to leave with the rest of the patrons.

Hawke and Anders had left earlier, slightly more than drunk, but she wasn’t in the mood to help them. No she wanted something else.

She was startled out of her thoughts when a hand clasped onto her shoulder. The quiet laughter instantly calmed her.

“It’s me,” Fenris whispered, dropping his hand and stepping back so as not to crowd the rogue, who had a habit of striking first. A good policy but not helpful in this situation.

She smiled. “You sure you want to do this?” she asked, taking a step toward him, but avoiding touching him.

“Do you mean, is this decision for me or out of revenge?”

She nodded.

“I… don’t know anymore.”

The self-hatred in his voice cut through Isabela, reminding her that she wasn’t the only one hurting.

She nodded toward Hightown, and asked, “Do you…?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

 

~

 

The minute they stepped into Fenris’ mansion (not actually his, but technicalities), she found herself pulled into the elf’s lithe frame. Not gently; but then again since when did Isabela prefer gentle?

They paused, Fenris catching his breath and Isabela giving him a moment to adjust, not wanting to push him into anything he did not absolutely want.

Fenris was the first to move, placing his lips against hers, running his fingers through her hair and tilting his head so that the kiss was deepened. As their tongues slid against each other and teeth clashed, Isabela shivered, in want and need. Her hands wrapped themselves around his hips, holding him in place against her.

They pulled away at the same time, breathing heavily, lips swollen and slick with their shared saliva.

She ran her hands over his chest, undoing his leathers and exposing his lyrium-tattooed body to her loving gaze. As she reached his belt, still showing Hawke’s favor, he held her hands.

“My turn,” he said, staring at her intently. She dropped her hands, nodding in acquiesce.

He tentatively placed his hands on her shoulders, running his long fingers under the corset to feel her soft skin. As he pulled away to undo her bodice, she felt a shiver run down her spine. No one had ever been this gentle with her before, not even Logan.

He stilled. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I’m okay, sweetness.”

He sighed. Then went back to undoing her bodice, being careful not to rip it, even though he desperately wanted to; his pants were getting tight.

Once that was done, he stood back to admire her frame, running his hands over her breasts, smiling a little as her nipples tightened under his fingers.

She moaned as his touch ignited the fire she had thought dead. She placed a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, because her legs didn’t want to hold her up anymore.

He let out a chuckle and lifted her, walking to his bed, where he dropped her gently onto her back on the mattress.

She watched him move around, enjoying the way the firelight played across his naked chest and back.

“Come here,” she finally said, holding a hand out to him.

As soon as he took her proffered hand, she yanked him against her, pressing her mouth to his and running her tongue over his lips. They stayed like that for a while, just enjoying each other’s company.

Finally, Isabela moved her hand down over his still-leather-clad ass, reaching blindly for his belt.

He laughed against her mouth, moving so that she could find what she was searching for.

He knew the moment she realized.

“You don’t wear underclothes!”

He chuckled. “Nope, never have. Can’t stand them.”

“So all that time, whenever I tried guessing what color they were, you were laughing at me?” She was in mock outrage, though her eyes twinkled.

He tried to appear contrite, but it didn’t last long. Soon they were both laughing at the absurdity of the situation.

She pulled him down on top of her, running her fingers idly over his back. He held himself up on his forearms, so that he could see her face.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked quietly, seriously. He nodded.

“I’ve never been more sure, ‘Bela. This is for me.”

She appeared satisfied with that answer, because she tugged at his head and pulled him into another kiss.

He had other ideas however.

He placed a kiss on her cheek, and then ran his mouth over her chin and down her neck. He randomly placed kisses over her chest and stomach, moving lower still.

He found her sweet spot, and they both were lost.

 

~

 

When she woke up the next morning, pleasantly sore, she found that he was still in bed with her. They were comfortably spooned together, and his hand was wrapped around her waist.

She smiled.

In sleep, he looked… younger, more peaceful.

“I can feel you staring at me,” he mumbled, not opening his eyes. She smirked, turning herself around so that she could look down at him.

“Of course I’m staring at you. You make quite the picture curled around me the way you are.”

He shook his head. “Too early, and my head is pounding slightly. Go back to sleep.”

“You didn’t drink enough to get a hangover,” she chided, clucking her tongue and running a finger through his hair.

“No, I didn’t, but my head is still pounding.”

“You poor thing, I think I have just the cure.”

This time he did open his eyes.

“Don’t even think about it, wench. I know your wily ways.”

She chuckled. “Good. At least someone in this ragtag group does.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at Fenabela, a couple I'm starting to adore. Comments and kudos welcome!


End file.
